


Compassion

by LoveChilde



Category: Da Vinci's Demons
Genre: Angst, Bad Ideas, Bathing/Washing, Canonical Character Death, Episode Tag, Heartbreak, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 11:50:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1687256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveChilde/pseuds/LoveChilde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Episode tag for 2X06, The Rope of the Dead. </p>
<p>After doing the unthinkable, Riario is ready to fall off the edge of sanity. Being quite familiar with that edge, Leo is there to catch him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Compassion

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Сострадание](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12971130) by [goldkhator](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldkhator/pseuds/goldkhator)



> This isn't nearly as slashy as it might've been, I swear. Spoilers up to and including 2X06. Unbeta'ed, all mistakes are mine. Side effects for ayahuasca, the drug Leo was given, are from Wikipedia, and can include nausea, light-headedness, and "significant but temporary emotional distress", occasionally.

They stand there, silent, for a moment longer. Leonardo stares at Riario, notes that the other man's eyes are wide, his pupils expanded. He does not look entirely sane, if indeed he ever was- but then, Leonardo has always said that sanity is overrated. Certainly he makes no claims to it, himself. Under the circumstances, Leo rather thinks that Riario is justified in taking leave of his senses for a while. He wonders whether the locals produce any alcohol- they had seen neither grapes nor oats, in their time here. Maybe the odd yellow grain they call maize can be turned into spirits. 

His thoughts are disrupted when Riario sways on his feet, and the shift of weight brings them both toppling to the ground, as their arms are still twisted together. It's not a hard landing, but they both groan, all the same. Leo feels like someone has gone at him with a cudgel, even after taking the antidote- sore and beaten, a little woozy still. His face stings from Riario's open-handed swipe. Riario- now that Leo looks properly, the count is filthy, his face streaked with dirt, sweat and what might be tears, and he's barely dressed. He's also-

"Bleeding." Leo's mouth moves before his brain has completed the thought. "You're bleeding." Small cuts, bruises, and his fingers run over Riario's torso without consideration for privacy or propriety, intimate without seeking permission. Riario bats his hands away, but there's little strength or intent supporting the motion, and Leo continues unhindered. "What happened?"

"Told you. Killed her." He seems to be fixated on that one event- again, understandable, under the circumstances, but currently unhelpful. 

"She didn't do this to you," Leo trails his fingers just under a long scratch, high on Riario's shoulder, "Nor this." His other hand takes Riario's and turns it over, inspecting bruised and torn knuckles. "What else did they have you do?"

It takes Riario a moment to answer, and Leo can see him gathering his scattered thoughts, sorting through words. "I faced three of their predators. Warriors. No weapon, until I had one of theirs. They tried to kill me." He pauses, and grins suddenly, fast and vicious, an almost ugly grimace of triumph. "They failed. God is with me. I am His vengeful wrath." The grin fades, and he seems to fold in on himself, his face a wordless question that Leo can't bring himself to ask, even though it is the most obvious- did Zita deserve God's vengeful wrath? Did Riario deserve to be the instrument of that destruction? Was the Book of Leaves truly worth this sacrifice?

Leo's stomach seems to twist and flip inside him, queasiness rising at this pointless waste of life, all on his behalf, supposedly. It takes him a moment to realize that the nausea is more than a simple emotional reaction, and he barely has time to hold up a hand, gasp 'Pardon me' and untangle himself from Riario. He staggers a few steps to the corner of the cave, just in time to double over, vomiting violently. It hurts, and it feels like it goes on for ever, but finally it ends, and he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, spits twice and tries to cover up the remains with some sand, with only partial success. He turns back to Riario, feeling mortified, disgusted with himself, and suddenly angry. 

"Three of their men. And Zita- poor, poor Zita." His eyes sting, and he isn't sure just why he's reacting so strongly. He hates needless death, it's true; life has so much more potential for beauty and wisdom, and wasting both is a terrible thing, but he usually has better control of himself even in dire circumstances. Now, he wants to rage and scream and kick and cry, but allows himself none of those indulgences. His grief and anger are general. Abstract. Riario's, however...Compassion tears at Leo’s heart- or is it pity?. 

Before Riario can respond, two of the locals enter the cave. One, a woman, carries a tray which holds the flat maize cakes and some other things that may be food, and a large clay jug. The second, a man, carries a large clay basin, almost a tub, which appears to be full of water. Both locals put their loads down on the floor, and the woman indicates the tray and basin, and motions towards Leo and Riario. Clearly, they're for them.

"Thank you." Leo nods. He's too light-headed to try and remember the words for it in their own language, but his meaning is clear, and they nod as well and leave them alone once more. He kneels by the tray- besides the grain cakes there are strips of dried meat he can't identify, some baked tubers and fresh fruit or vegetables- all unique to this New World, as far as he knows, and alien to him. Normally his mind would be on fire with curiosity, but now he is too tired, too sad- and too much in the company of one who states repeatedly that they are not friends, yet contradicts his own words with actions again and again. 

The jug contains something fermented that burns down Leo's throat when he tastes it. He sighs in wordless gratitude, and drags both tray and basin to the edge of the blankets on the floor. "Here. I- I think it's beer. Really strong beer." He holds the jug out in Riario's direction, and the other man takes it in silence. "Think you could eat?"

Riario drinks, deep and without bothering with a trial sip first, and gags, almost dropping the jug. "This is vile." He sets the jug on the floor, and Leo notes that his hand is trembling. 

"Like cat's piss." Leo agrees with forced cheerfulness, "But it'll do the trick. You should eat." The thought of food turns his stomach again. "And maybe- clean up."

Riario looks at the tray and shakes his head wordlessly. He seems oddly focused, yet at a loss, and Leo reminds himself again that the man has just been forced to do the unthinkable, and has a right to be a little lost. Food and rest might make him feel better, or might just sharpen the loss and the horror. So he nods, but motions for Riario to move closer to him, anyway. 

"Come here. You should clean up." They both should. Leo doesn't usually mind being a little dirty, but right now he feels sticky and gritty, swimming in a miasma of fear-sweat, sex and lingering traces of puke, and would love to wash those away. The rugs and blanket on the floor smell like sex as well, and he wonders whether Riario's in any state to notice that, or comment on it. In any case, Riario makes no comment as he joins him by the basin, where they wouldn't drip on the rugs.

The water is steaming slightly, scented with some kind of herb, and there are two hunks of some spongy fabric for them to use. Riario reaches into the water to take one of these, and it drops down from his fingers almost as soon as it's out of the water. He looks at it, brows drawn in a frown, then at his trembling hand, too unsteady to hold even a rug. As Leo watches, silent and sympathetic, Riario closes his eyes and takes a deep, shaky breath. Even in the dim light of the cave, Leo can see his face color at this display of weakness. 

"May I?" He moves closer, and this might be the first time in years that he's asked for permission to touch anybody, but Riario's already hit him once, and he doesn't particularly want to be hit again. Bare shoulders twitch in a shrug, and that's all the permission Leo needs. He swirls the rug in the basin once, then lifts it and slides it slowly across Riario's left shoulder and down his arm. The twitch is more violent this time, and eyes open wide and give him a slightly glazed look. "Shhh..." His voice and touch are gentle, speaking as if to a frightened animal- and what is man, after all, but a beast given some little sense? What is he, when horror takes that sense away?

"It's alright. Don't move." _Please don't hit me, I hurt enough already_.

Riario doesn't move. He allows Leo to swipe the rug across his shoulders, down his back and his arms and over his chest. Leo works neatly and smoothly, as if he’s cleaning a marble sculpture. In his stillness, Riario might almost be one; his breath only draws in sharply once or twice when the rug scrapes over a cut, or when Leo presses too hard on a rising bruise. As the paint and dirt wash away, it becomes clear he's not nearly as badly hurt as he could've been. Scratched, bruised, but generally whole, for a man who faced three other men more or less bare-handed. 

"You fought well." Cold comfort, but the silence feels too strained and heavy between them. "I'm- grateful. You saved my life." 

"I did, didn't I?" The reply is a long time coming. Riario's trembling is more pronounced now, with the cold air of the chamber on his wet skin, and his eyes are still too wide, too stark. 

"You did." Leo can still feel the traces of the poison in his body, his pulse a little too fast, his skin too hot but his insides chilled. Finally, after considering his words and actions for some moments, he dips the rug in the basin again and strokes it down Riario's face. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry it had to be her. I didn't know." If he'd known, would he have called the whole thing off? Given up the Book of Leaves for the sake of one person? For the sake of two? Three?

The worst thing is, he's not sure he would have. The Book is too important. And given his actions, Riario clearly agrees.

"You have no right to be sorry." 

Alright, maybe that was an incorrect assumption. Leo frowns, lost enough in his own thoughts that he takes a moment to register that Riario even spoke. "Sorry?"

"Don't bother being sorry. Don't apologize. You have no right to be sorry, and you will not be pardoned for it. You barely knew her." The Count's voice is strained, tight with anger and pain and myriad other emotions. "You. Have. No. Right."

Half his face is dripping, the other half still spattered with mud. Leo considers this, and wipes the rug down the dirty side of Riario's face. That he is allowed to do so should tell him something, but his mind is spinning too much for him to read any sense in it. "I barely knew her." He concedes, again before the silence becomes too heavy. "But I know you, a little. Enough to be sorry for you."

He almost anticipates the blow that knocks his hand away and sends the rug flying. 

"Don't pity me!" 

Leo draws back, hurt and bewildered and angry, even though he knows he should've expected the outburst. "Why the hell not? You'd rather I gloated? I'm sorry for you, because you seemed to like her, and she seemed to like you, and I think very few people like you, Girolamo."

Riario bares his teeth. "You know nothing about her. About us." He is still trembling, which Leo notices, but that doesn't slow the flow of words. "It's your fault- all your fault, you and the damned Book!"

Leo wonders whether it would be a good idea to point out that Riario could have just stayed in Florence or in Rome, been a good pawn to His Holiness, and stayed out of the whole thing. It was Riario's own obsession with the Book of Leaves that brought him here, as much as Leo's. After a moment of contemplation, Leo decides that 'good' isn't necessarily 'safe', when it comes to ideas and saying what's on his mind. To stall, he takes up the other sponge-thing and squeezes it over his head, savouring the feeling of now-cool water washing away the sweat and dirt. For a few silent minutes, Leo busies himself with washing, while Riario watches through half-closed eyes, like a snake or a cat. 

Leo almost flirts, but remembers his thought regarding what is a good idea and what is a safe one, and decides that this idea is neither good nor safe. 

Finally, he is as clean as he can get without taking off his breeches, which he does not intend to do. He looks at Riario and sighs. "Without my genius, you'd never have come this far. I'm sorry I didn't have the chance to stop you before it came to this."

He sees genuine surprise in Riario's eyes for a moment, before the other man snorts. "You think too highly of yourself, _artista_."

"Not at all." Leo counters. "I have an accurate assessment of my own abilities. What I lack is complete knowledge, not the wherewithal to use it."

"Pride is a grave sin." 

"Then we shall sit together in Hell." Leo shrugs. 

Riario is silent for a while, then says, "This _is_ Hell."

"I always imagined it would be hotter." But other than that, Leo doesn't disagree. He wishes the circumstances were better; this New World has so many wonders he wishes to explore, but the quest stands in his way, demanding his full attention. He hates it, sometimes. A lot of the time. There doesn't seem to be much more to say, and to distract himself, Leo trails lines in the sand on the cave floor. There is no clear thought in his mind as to what he is drawing, but soon enough both of his hands are flying, drawing lines from his mind and unto the sand- until fingers close tightly on his wrist, stilling it.

"Stop." Riario's voice is choked, harsh with emotion. "Stop, damn you!" 

Leo opens his eyes- he registers with surprise that they have been closed for some minutes- and looks down at the hand gripping his wrist. Bruised knuckles, ragged nails- and the image drawn in the sand beneath them. 

"Fuck." Short but heartfelt, and he reaches with his free hand to wipe away the sketch of Zita's face he has somehow drawn in the sand. His other hand is caught before he can undo his work, both wrists now held painfully tightly, and Riario stares down at the sand, transfixed, tears slowly overflowing and dripping gracelessly down his face. "Shit. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to." 

"You keep saying that." Riario's voice is steady, despite the tears. "And yet, she's dead. I killed her. And you- you dare bring me her _face_? You dare say she _forgives_ me?" He pulls hard on Leo's hands, shaking him. "How? Why would you say that? _How_ could you say it?"

"She did forgive you!" Leo protests. "I saw her. Among the dead. She was the one I didn't expect to see. She said to tell you- she forgives you." He looks down at the sand, "That's what she looked like." He curses his stupid mind, the lingering traces of his poison and drug-induced visions still vivid at his fingertips. "I didn't mean to draw her. Sometimes it just- happens." He twists his hands sharply to break Riario's grip on them, and manages to free himself, only to grab Riario's hands in his own. He needs something real to hold on to. “I'm sorry."

"Stop saying that!" This time the unexpected blow knocks him off balance and sends him sprawling, stars flooding his vision for a moment. He swears again and tries to rise, but Riario is on him, holding him down, one hand hitting whatever he can reach. Leo takes several painful punches before he manages to roll over and pin his opponent down. 

"The fuck are you doing?" They land back on the rugs and blankets, and the smell of sex surrounds them. His full weight is on Riario, who lies motionless beneath him, breathing hard. "We may not be friends, Girolamo, but I am not the enemy here." 

"You _are_ here." Riario spits. "It's enough."

"No. You got one free punch. No more than that. These, I may have to repay later." But he doesn't think he will; they've both been hurt enough today. "Will you try again if I let you go?"

"Yes." 

Well, at least he's honest about it. Leo shrugs and settles himself more comfortably. For some odd reason, this seems to surprise Riario.

"What are you doing?" 

"Stopping you from hitting me. It's self defense." 

"Get off me."

"No." It's actually comfortable to lie down, Leo finds. It settles his still-swimming head, and Riario is (slightly) softer than the floor. Warmer, certainly. There's an awful lot of bare skin, between the two of them, and for now, neither one of them moves. Riario doesn't try to throw him off, yet another surprise. Maybe he's finally exhausted. Slowly, both their heartbeats settle into a calmer rhythm, and Leo feels them synchronize. There's a kind of twisted grace to it. 

"Why do you do this?" Riario asks at last, very quietly. 

"This? I told you. Self defense." 

"Not that. All of this. You could've just gone to sleep." 

"No I couldn't. You didn't see your face when you came in."

"I don't want your pity, _artista_." Their voices vibrate into each other. 

"It's not pity. It's compassion. It's regret, because we both wish for another choice in this." The bout of violence and the rest that followed it have briefly dulled the memory of the day's events. "It's sadness that a good woman has died, and other than the four of us here, no one will ever know, or care." 

It is a cruel truth, and he sees it sinking in, in Riario's half-closed eyes, inches away from his own. Sees him blink away more tears, and it hurts, to be this close to so much pain. Skin-on-skin, he can feel the shudders running through Riario's body, and it's easy enough to shift his hands just a little, so that they hold gently instead of restraining. It's not quite a hug, it's far too awkward for that, but it's offered as a comfort and accepted as such, and they both move just enough that they're curled into each other, holding each other. 

Leo is careful, still wary of getting too close, too intimate, but Riario clings to him like a drowning man, with desperate strength, and he hasn't the heart to pull away. He is silent as Riario sobs in heavy, wrenching gulps, his hands offering wordless comfort just as surely as they offered offence earlier, and as instinctively. 

There is no clear separation between one moment and the next, one emotion and another. Between two breaths, the pressing of Riario's body against Leo's changes in tone, the tension in his limbs different, his face buried in Leo's shoulder seeking, rather than hiding. It's enough of a shock that he allows it, until his mind is fully caught up, and he pulls away sharply.

"No. No!" He tries to move away, but Riario grabs his hand again. "Stop that. You don't know what you're doing."

"I do." Quiet, but sincere. If it wasn't for the glimmer of tears still covering less-than-sane eyes, Leo might even believe him. 

"No, no you don't. You've lost your mind, you're fucked up by grief." Leo talks very fast, because Riario is pulling him back down, and he's not sure he can find it in him to resist, however terrible an idea this is, because he's had a terrible few months, and an awful day, and he wants to erase the memory of Ima's touch from his skin, from the blankets on the floor. 

"Maybe I am. Maybe one more sin on top of everything else doesn't matter much anymore." There are hands all over Leo, reaching, searching, and he slides away again. His reactions are slower, his mind still a little fuzzy, but he knows they must not do this.

"Any other day- no, this would still be a terrible idea any other day. Stop this, Girolamo. You can't do this."

"I can and I will." Riario drags himself up to stand, his eyes fixed on Leo, and advances on him. 

"You'll hate yourself tomorrow, if you do." Leo side-steps away.

"I already hate myself, _artista_." Riario matches him step for step, and faster.

"Well then, you'll hate me as well." He tries, changing direction again.

"I already hate you, too." Implacable, Riario follows.

"Then you'll hate us both _more_! For fuck's sake, Girolamo!” No, bad choice of words, there. Leo evades again, then turns around to face Riario solidly, his mind racing as much as his heart. "If I allow this- and I can stop you, if I have to- it'll be out of pity. I thought you don't want my pity." Because he doesn't actually want to have sex right now, because Riario killed four people only hours ago, and because this would be a terrible, terrible idea. But in order to keep them both at least a little sane, if there was no other choice, Leo'd do it. Only out of pity. 

This stops Riario cold. Leo can see the fight, the energy, draining out of him. He hangs his head, shoulders slumping in defeat. "You're right," His voice is raspy, "I don't know what came over me. I was..." He shrugs, and Leo nods, even though he knows Riario's not looking at him.

"I understand. I was here, it was enough." Leo’s thrown himself at the wrongest people out of boredom or loneliness or anger, before. Neither one of them wants to be alone right now, he knows this, but there are many ways of being not-alone. "Come here." Riario doesn't move, and after a moment Leo huff in irritation and marches over to him. "Come on. We're going to eat, and then we're going to sleep, and neither one of us is going to hate the other, just for tonight. So there'll be at least one of us who doesn't hate you." Somewhere, Riario finds enough anger to glare at him, and Leo puts both hands up, palms out in defense. "Not pity. Compassion. Different things. Besides, I'm hungry. Just...sit down and stop being an ass." 

He can see the inner struggle in the other man for a moment, before Riario capitulates and they sit down again, closer to the tray which holds the food. They are close enough to touch, but carefully staying apart, taking a chance to collect themselves, to refocus. Leo picks up a grain cake and bites into it. It's dry, only a little sweet, and after two bites he finds he's not that hungry, after all. Riario doesn't try even that much. He touches a smooth red fruit on the tray. 

"Everything is different here."

"Yes." Leo agrees. The fruit is round, softer than an apple, and a different shade of red from any Leo has ever seen in an apple. He pokes it with one finger. "Strange. Under any other circumstances, I'd want to see everything, do everything. Instead..." He's chasing his own tail, looking for the Vault of Heaven and the dream of his mother. To what end? He is ignoring the chance of enlightenment in order to seek a higher level of enlightenment. Again, Leo wonders whether it's worth it. 

"Yes." Riario's expression make it clear that they wonder the same thing. He picks the fruit up, and drops it gently after a moment. "I can't."

Leo nods, and they both sit for a while, each lost in his own thoughts. Leo's mind wanders, and he holds his hands clenched together in his lap, to stop any more ill-advised and unexpected sketches. The air grows colder, and he shivers. "It would be incredibly ironic to've come all this way and die of a chill." He said, and it seems this observation surprises Riario, who snorts. 

"It would." He shifts and winces, and Leo surmises that he is finally feeling his injuries. 

"We should sleep. Tomorrow is a big day."

"Indeed." But the word is almost a sigh, and it doesn't sound like Riario is really looking forward to the Vault of Heaven. Leo thinks Riario might say something more, but he does not, and for a few minutes longer they sit, staring down, and Leo grows colder and feels his muscles stiffening from the day's exertions. Finally, he thumps the ground with an open palm.

"Enough. I'm going to sleep." Matching deed to word, he lies back on the rugs and blankets, shifting until he finds a reasonably comfortable position. Exhaustion tugs as him, but as tired as he is, there's something missing. Someone, rather. "Girolamo, will you come the fuck to sleep already? Come _on_. For my own sense of security, alright?" Not pity- pragmatism. At Riario's raised eyebrow, Leo elaborates. "I want to know exactly where your hands are, in relation to my neck, all night. And I need to know they are nowhere near it. So come here, damn you."

"I'm already damned." But there's quiet resignation in the words, almost a sense of peace, and Riario comes over and once again they lie together. 

First, they are stiff, side by side, barely touching, but Leo has little patience for awkwardness, after the past few hours, and he turns and moves a little closer. Riario echoes his movements, and slowly, without making a fuss about it, they fit around each other again. Leo knows exactly where Riario's hands are, and they are not around his neck or anywhere near it. It's surprisingly comfortable. And comforting. 

They do not say good night, because it hasn't been, and it won't be, and neither one of them expects to sleep well, if at all.

And yet, they do.


End file.
